


Not Much To Say

by chaserzachsmith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Some Fluff, Some angst, i love ron and also im sorry, rated for some swearing because its ron, some miscellany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaserzachsmith/pseuds/chaserzachsmith
Summary: Or, six conversations Ron had after the war.





	Not Much To Say

* * *

**Chapter 1: Ginny**

* * *

It takes place right after the Battle.

Well, not _quite_ right after the Battle. Right after the Battle he and Hermione go right at Harry. Because, of course, Harry was alive then. He hadn't been just a bit ago, so it'd been a bit of a shock for all of them.

Ron reckons he's still in shock.

Then Harry had dragged them to the Headmaster's office to talk to the Dumbledore portrait, and to break the world's most unbeatable wand. Ron's in shock over that, too.

And right after _that_ , he and Hermione ducked somewhere and snogged for a bit- Ron can't _believe_ they accidentally outed their relationship that way. Much less that it had been _Hermione_ to make that move. And, well, after the snog he remembers rather late and stupidly that he has a family that needs him, and that's when the conversation takes place.

Fred has been taken to another room with the other casualties of the Battle. George and Lee are somewhere together not coping, and his mum and dad are doing the same thing but right here in the Great Hall, and it only takes a moment for Ron to feel utterly useless here.

Even Percy is doing better than him, he notes, watching Percy with his arms around Mum, crying. Ron swears under his breath and turns around, then notices Ginny standing behind him.

"Nice," she says, of the swearing, and Ron almost swears again before considering that he'd be proving her point.

"Don't sneak up on me," he says, a bit too high strung to laugh it off. They are both pretending not to notice that at his sudden movement, they'd both moved for their wands.

"Sorry," she says. "Bad year, I take it?"

Ron really can't do anything but laugh at that. "You could say that."

Ginny grins. "Yeah, us too." She sends a discreet glance at the rows of the injured, where the Healers are still working on the people too badly hurt to Apparate.

"Yeah, Neville told us," says Ron, and he's suddenly aware of how utterly exhausted he is. He sits down gingerly at the nearest dinner table, stretches his legs out stiffly, gestures for Ginny to join him.

"Ah, that's nice," she says, a murmur. He doubts she'd intended to say it out loud, so he ignores it. They sit in silence.

There isn't much they _can_ say. They just won a war. They just lost a brother. How do you reconcile that?

"So, why'd you break into Gringotts yesterday?" Ginny asks, not looking at him.

Had it only been yesterday?

"To get a cup," says Ron. "It's kind of a long story, you're better off asking Harry or Hermione. They know more than me."

She lets out a _pffft_ sound. "So was the cup one of You-Know-Who's… things?"

"Yeah," he says. "Long story. What about you?"

"Why did I break into Gringotts?" she asks, and smiles slightly. Sometimes, Ron thinks that she has spent too much time with him and the twins.

"How was your year?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. I had it pretty good, really, I left earlier on. Seamus was telling me some things that-" she shudders.

Ron nods. He has the feeling she doesn't want to discuss it more, and she confirms it a moment later. "So if You-Know-Who is dead, what do we do now?"

"Well, we probably have to make sure he _is_ dead," says Ron. "Fooled us once, hasn't he?"

"I've missed you," she says, and shakes her head. "What do we do now, though?"

"Take a nap," says Ron. "Rebuild the Ministry. Take a lot more naps."

"I'm good with that plan," says Ginny.

"Take care of our brother," says Ron, and they both glance over at where Percy is still sitting with Mum and Dad. "Take care of our parents."

Ginny nods. "Kinda wish it'd all just," she stops and tilts her head, looking up at him for the first time. "Be over. No more You-Know-Who, no more problems."

"He wasn't all the problem," says Ron. "The other problem was people letting him do it. Helping him."

"Do you blame them?" asks Ginny, and she glances down. "I know it isn't right to, but…"

She trails off and they sit in silence again. "Yeah," says Ron. "I know."

He considers telling her that he understands, though- that he knows what it feels like, that choice between safety and family, or doing something dangerous but right. He remembers Xeno Lovegood, remembers what it meant to choose family. To be a coward and abandon the cause.

But Ron is not quite brave enough for that, not yet, and so he says nothing about it, and Ginny, maybe sensing his discomfort, changes the subject. Of course not to something happy, though. They aren't quite ready to be happy, either of them.

"We lost so much of the DA," she says. Ron nods, and glances again at the wounded. Lavender Brown is there, with Parvati. Ron, last year, would have cringed and looked away.

And Lavender last year had been lively and bright, but she lies there pale and feeble and he doesn't cringe thinking about her.

"What were we thinking?" says Ginny. "That we took him on. What made us think we were-"

"We did," Ron points out. "We did win-"

"Harry won," she says. "We just died. If You-Know-Who wasn't dead, we'd have lost."

"Maybe," says Ron. Ginny sighs.

"They duelled to kill, Ron. But I know- I know a lot of the DA duelled to Stun." There's a pause. "They would have won."

There's another pause, longer. Ron hadn't duelled to kill, either. He wonders if he should have. _They_ would have been happy to kill him. They _had_ been happy killing Fred and Tonks and Lupin and so many others. It's only fair to kill them back.

But Ron doesn't want to kill people. He supposes that's another brand of cowardice- even if he knew they'd go on to hurt others, he wouldn't kill them. Spare his conscience. Selfish, really.

"But they didn't win," says Ginny, in a tone that makes it clear that _she_ at least is done with hypotheticals. "We did."

"Doesn't feel like we did," says Ron. And it's true. He is exhausted. He's a little hungry. He has to pee. And there are too many bodies, too many kids in St. Mungo's- hell, too many kids still at Hogwarts injured- for this to be a victory.

"Yeah," says Ginny, and he knows she's thinking the same thing. "Well."

"Well," he agrees.

"I'm going to take that nap," she says, then looks at him again. "And then I guess we start rebuilding."

"I guess so," he says, and she nods.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back."

"Good to see you, Ginny," says Ron, and smiles. She nods and stands up, almost falls over, says quickly that she's okay. Ron watches her hug Mum, then start for the exit. Luna Lovegood detaches from Neville and Hannah Abbott to catch up with her, links her arm with Ginny's.

Ginny has grown up, Ron thinks, and he wonders how long he's known that.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Hermione**

* * *

It takes place in the Burrow at the kitchen table.

They both have tea, and they are chattering about everything and absolutely nothing. They're worried about Harry. Very worried. He spends too much time at Andromeda Tonks's house with Teddy, too much time at Grimmauld Place, too much time alone.

"And Professor McGonagall says by tomorrow they're going to have the last of the rubble cleared up from the courtyard, and she _hopes_ that Ravenclaw Tower is repaired by the time school starts again, she's got Flitwick working on that-"

Hermione plans to go back when school restarts. Get her NEWTs. Ron, himself, doesn't know what he wants. Harry's going into the Aurors when they've got enough people to start training. Ron reckons he's going to follow Harry.

Not like getting the NEWTs would help his case, anyway. Better to take advantage of this offer without.

"Where d'you reckon Harry is?" he asks, and Hermione stops her tirade about idiot _journalists_ hanging around Hogwarts to blink rather owlishly at him.

"He went to Grimmauld Place this morning, you were asleep," she says. "Why?"

"Do you think he blames himself?"

"He's _Harry,_ " says Hermione. She leaves out the obvious- of course Harry blames himself. It's what he does.

They don't know what to say after that.

"The journalists don't go asking thick questions, do they?" he asks.

"Have you _ever_ met a journalist?" Hermione says, and laughs a little. "One of them asked me if, get this, I was planning on fixing my hair so it doesn't," she gestures at herself, indicating the wildness. " _Puff_ like this."

"Well, are you?" asks Ron, and she gives him a look of mock disapproval, eyebrows arched.

Ron laughs, and she smiles too. It's easy. Familiar. It's hard to find easy, familiar things, these days.

"Once, one of them asked Ginny if her parents knew she was here all alone," says Ron. "She near about bit his head off!"

Hermione laughs. "That's not a surprise."

"The reporter or Ginny?" says Ron, and grins.

"Both!"

They sit in amused silence. Ron takes a sip of tea; it's lukewarm now, but he's fine with that.

"Do you think they'll forgive us?"

Ron glances up at her. "Forgive us what?" he says. "Who?"

"The DA," she says. "You know they blame us. And, well, we _were_ going to leave them there."

Ron remembers, for a moment, the hour before the Battle. You're just going to leave us in this mess? That had been Michael Corner or something.

"It wasn't like that," he says, but Hermione shakes her head.

"I don't think we really understand what happened that year," she says. "Neville said stuff, but I don't think it was _nearly_ enough."

Ron nods. "Ginny doesn't talk about it, though," he says. She doesn't. He's tried to start that conversation a few times, to no avail.

"Not a lot do," she says. "At least not to us."

"Do you reckon they blame him?" Ron asks. There's no need to ask who _him_ is. With Ron and Hermione, there's usually only one _him_.

"I think some do," says Hermione, thoughtfully. "I can't imagine there aren't people who don't." She glances down at her teacup.

"The thing is, it's not Harry's war, and I don't think he realises that," says Ron. "The people at the Battle, they didn't die for Harry. They died for a whole lot more."

"I know, Ron," says Hermione.

They sit and look at their tea. Ron swirls it around and swigs the last of it. The tea leaves in the bottom seem to form a little splotch, almost in a fish shape. He wonders what that could mean. Probably that he's going to be killed by a walking dolphin or some shit.

"Maybe we better go find Harry," says Ron. "He's been gone a bit too long."

"Ginny already went over there," says Hermione. "Two hours ago."

Ron considers this. "Let's not go," he says, because Merlin _knows_ what Ginny and Harry are doing over there. Her hand is resting on the table, and suddenly he wants to take it. He scratches his ear instead.

Killer chess? Yeah! Brains of death? Bring it on! A fucking horde of Death Eaters outnumbering them all? Sure, okay! Holding hands with Hermione? _Hell_ no.

Hermione surprises him then. "Let's go on a date, Ron."

"A date?" he says. "No offence, Hermione, but I hardly think this is really the time for dating."

"Why?" she says. "War's over. We can do it, Ron."

"For one thing, we go out anywhere with a wizard and we'll be assaulted," says Ron. The reporters, as Hermione had mentioned, are in season.

"We can stay in a Muggle town," she says. "Ron, the war's over. We're rebuilding. We aren't obligated to mope. It's time to go back to living."

"Living," says Ron.

Hermione grins. "Like getting a job. Or going to school. Or doing anything but staying in the kitchen cooking for your brothers."

"Yeah," says Ron. He pauses. "I reckon I want to go into the Aurors. With Harry."

"Really?" says Hermione, surprised. "It's dangerous-"

"This may come as a shock, but I've done a few mildly dangerous things before," says Ron.

"I just meant, you know I'm not happy that Harry wants to go fight more, but I don't really expect otherwise," she says. "You're done though, Ron. We won the war."

"There are still Death Eaters out there," he shoots back. "There's a lot to do."

She tilts her head. "There is a lot to do," she says, a small compromise.

"Yeah," says Ron. "You can go into the Ministry and fight that way. Let me and Harry do this. This is how we can fight."

"I know," says Hermione, and she shakes her head. "I know."

* * *

**Chapter 3: Seamus**

* * *

It takes place in a bar after a long day of training.

"They kicked me from the Aurors," says Seamus, staring at his glass. He doesn't seem like he wants to elaborate on the thought. He doesn't seem like someone who would have even been in the running for the Aurors. His face is white and he looks, for lack of any other words, utterly purposeless.

"I'm sorry," says Ron, who can't really think of anything else to say. "I-"

"Nah, you're not," says Seamus. "I don't need you _pitying_ me."

Ron and Seamus have been friends for a good seven years; Ron knows when to argue and when to just nod and let it go. Seamus takes a long breath and blows it out his nose hard. "Really, though, I'm glad," he says. "Not like I really needed that job, anyway. I have better things to do than that. I don't have to be some Ministry lackey."

"Yeah," says Ron. He's unsurprised, if he's honest with himself. Seamus has been freaking out during training on a few occasions. Straight up panicked today, had to be sedated. They had to call Dean in to get him. Mess, all around.

"I just don't see myself able to do anything else with my life, you know?" says Seamus. "What the _fuck_ am I good for other than being a blowhard?"

"I don't know, Seamus," says Ron, who's uncomfortable with this conversation. "You don't need to have it worked out yet, you know? You have a lot of time left."

"Yeah, right," says Seamus.

Anything Ron would say would sound hollow and insincere. He says nothing instead. Seamus picks up his glass, but sets it down without drinking. It's still full. "You know, _Dean_ -" he spits the name with a vehemency that Ron knows he doesn't mean "-says that it's not dumb to be this affected, but he doesn't understand." He pauses for a moment, then looks up into Ron's face and adds frankly, "neither do you, but you don't try."

Ron does try, though. He tries very hard to understand what has happened to his sister and her friends. She's not the same Ginny he left at Bill's wedding. She's changed fundamentally, like Seamus has. "I'd try if I knew I could get anywhere," he says.

"I know," says Seamus. "But you respect that there's just no way."

Ron understands. Ron knows too well that, because he spent his seventh year on the run instead of fighting back at Hogwarts, there's an insurmountable gap between him and the DA. Or what's left of the DA. It's not that he and Harry and Hermione (and Dean and all the others who'd been on the run, for that matter) hadn't suffered. It was that they hadn't suffered in the same way, and they all know it.

Because, really, Ron knows enough about what happened that year to know that he has no real idea of what had happened.

"You know, I don't know what I expected," says Seamus. "For the war to end and for everything to be fine, maybe."

"Probably," says Ron. "It's what I wanted."

"Yeah?" says Seamus, and sighs. "God, Ron, we're both stupid."

Ron, who's thought the same thought on countless occasions, shakes his head. Seamus picks up his glass again, doesn't drink it. Sets it back down.

"I'm afraid if I start drinking, I won't stop," he says. "You know they say that's what happens to veterans. I'm not even a veteran and I'm scared."

"You're a veteran, same as me," says Ron. "You fought in the war."

Seamus shakes his head. "There's a difference. I was a student."

"Everyone was, really," says Ron, tentatively.

"Exactly," says Seamus. Ron doesn't know what he means by it. Frankly, he's afraid to ask.

* * *

[Note: The timeline for Seamus's involvement with the Aurors is taken from my friend (oh help) Emily's Dean and Seamus fic "We Grew". It's not too necessary that you read it to understand this chapter but also go read it, it's the best and I highly recommend everything about it.]

* * *

**Chapter 4: Percy**

* * *

It takes place just outside the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes store, and George and Lee are standing in the doorway. Ron and Percy don't know what to do. They are hanging back; they are hovering near. They are, in truth, trying to do both and, as a result, failing at both.

It's the first time George is back at his store since the war. It's the first time any of them are, and Percy has his hands in his pockets and looks awkwardly.

It's the first time Percy visits the store, Ron realises. It sometimes hits him, the memory that Percy has missed so much of their family. He knows Ginny doesn't forgive him; he knows George does. He doesn't know what he thinks. He rarely does, anymore.

"It's a lot bigger than I thought it'd be," says Percy. "Very big."

Ron nods and stares with some anticipation up at the building. It doesn't look like it's been ransacked or booby trapped or destroyed. He hopes it hasn't been. George says something to Lee, so quietly that Ron misses it. It's a quiet moment. Someone is watching them from a doorway. She must know. About Fred.

George opens the door quickly, like he's ripping a plaster off. Lee puts a hand on his shoulder. It's tentative. Everything they do is tentative these days.

George and Lee end up in the stockroom going through the stuff they still have, and Ron and Percy remain in the main shop. Ron moves a pile of Skiving Snackboxes off a table and sits down. Percy remains standing, awkwardly tall and unsure in the middle of the room.

"It's really impressive," says Percy. "They started this all themselves?"

"Harry helped," says Ron. "He gave them his Triwizard winnings."

"Oh," says Percy. "Right- I wondered. He told us he didn't want them. I think he tried to give them to the Diggorys."

"Yeah."

There's a moment of silence. Ron tries to hear if there's anything going on in the stockroom, but it's silent there, too. Ron shifts uncomfortably on the table.

It's not that he doesn't trust Percy. He does. Well, sort of. But he'd never been as angry at Percy as the twins or Ginny or his dad. He wants to forgive Percy, and he thinks he can, but he thinks that's separate from trusting him.

"Really neat place," says Percy. He's reading the back of a potions bottle. "Blimey, this thing is genius."

"Yeah," says Ron, and clears his throat. "Honestly, this whole store is full of genius, I can't work how they only scored three OWLs each."

"What was it, Charms, Defense, and-"

"Transfiguration, I think," says Ron, and Percy shakes his head.

"Guess they didn't need them, though," he says. "Blimey."

Ron nods and glances to the side. There's the table where the Pygmy Puffs used to be. Ginny still has them at home. George hasn't been home in a month, though. He crashed in at Bill's and stayed there.

Ron understands.

"I'm really sorry," blurts Percy, and Ron turns back in surprise. "For- for leaving and-"

"Yeah, I know," says Ron without thinking. "I know."

There's a moment where they both seem to overanalyze what had just happened, and Percy adds, "I know it was inexcusable. I'm not going to try and-"

"Give yourself a little credit, Perce," says Ron. "You did what you thought was right. Even if it was, you know."

"Horribly wrong? Detestable?" Percy says it without looking at Ron. Ron glances away from him.

"Yeah."

"I know," says Percy, and there's another moment of silence. "It should have been-"

"Percy," says Ron, before he finishes it. "Just don't."

Percy nods, staring at the stack of Skiving Snackboxes that Ron had moved off the table. "Did they really make things for cutting class? That can't be legal."

"It's legal," Ron says, and smiles, a little. "They're just banned at Hogwarts."

"If I know anything about Hogwarts," starts Percy, and Ron laughs, a little.

"Yeah, the ban isn't doing much, far's I heard."

"Yeah."

"It's probably what he'd have wanted."

Percy smiles, a little.

They sit for a moment, before Ron says, perhaps unwisely, "You know you're going to be okay, right? Ginny will come around."

"Maybe," says Percy, but it's doubtful.

"She will," says Ron. "I swear."

Percy shrugs, looking down and away. "I wouldn't."

"Honest, Percy," says Ron. "We've all fucked up now and then."

Percy glances up at him sharply at the swear word. Ron almost takes it back. Hard to remember they aren't Hogwarts anymore; hard to remember Percy isn't Prefect. One of the few things he has gotten out of Ginny is that they'd given the Gryffindor Prefect badges (and one from Ravenclaw) to Slytherins. Even Ron could have done better than Crabbe; it's a bit insulting.

"None of you guys ever ran out on the family for two years to kiss arse at the Ministry," says Percy.

"Maybe," says Ron, then looks down again. "I ran out on Harry and Hermione, though."

"You what?" says Percy.

"I left them. 'Round November, for about a month. I came back."

Percy nods slowly. Ron sighs.

"Just… don't tell anyone, will you?"

"I'm not going to tell," says Percy.

There's another moment. Ron thinks that they both see each other in a different light. A more understanding one. A sadder one.

"It doesn't really," says Percy, then pauses. "We came back."

"We did," says Ron.

There's a long moment, then there's a small laugh. From the storeroom, not from them, and Ron realized he hasn't heard George laugh since the Battle.

"We're gonna be fine, you know," says Percy, and it's more of a question than a statement.

"Yeah," says Ron.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Molly**

* * *

It takes place in the kitchen.

He and his mother haven't really had the time or the opportunity to talk. There were the days right after the Battle. Funeral plans. His mother cried a lot. _He_ cried a lot, too, but more quietly. Then there were the days after the funeral, where she tried to come to terms with it.

Fred's dead. George is cooped up in Bill's cottage because he refuses to go home. Ron doesn't know if seeing George would make Mum feel better or worse. He figures George doesn't, either, but the only people George will talk to these days are Lee and, on occasion, Bill or Percy.

It's about two in the morning, and he's given up trying to fall back asleep. He has nightmares, sometimes. He wakes up breathing heavily and can't get himself to close his eyes again.

Tea, he thinks. Tea. Maybe some cake or something. It's two in the morning, nobody will have to know. And it'll calm him.

But the kitchen isn't, as he'd assumed, empty. His mum is there with her own cup of tea. He evaluates his options. He can have a conversation with his mum, or he can run upstairs and hide until morning.

"Hey," he says, just so she'll know he's there, and he takes the few steps to the table and sits across from her. She glances up, and he sees, without really being surprised, that she's been crying. It's been awhile since she hasn't looked like she's been crying.

"Ron," she says. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up-"

"No, no, I woke up myself," says Ron. He doesn't elaborate. He probably doesn't need to.

"Yeah," she says. "Tea?"

He half-smiles. He's tempted to refuse, if only because his mum is a firm believer that tea shouldn't have more than one lump of sugar in it, and he's a firm believer that tea needs at least three lumps and a bit of milk to be drinkable. But he hasn't sat down and talked to his mum in forever, and oh, bugger, she's already making him a cup while he's been zoned out thinking about it.

Typical.

It's bitter, but he takes a long sip and sighs. "Why are you up so late, Mum?"

She gives a little half-laugh. "Oh, you know…"

He waits, but she doesn't add to it. Even so, he does know. "Me too," he says. They both take a sip at the same time; it'd be funny in another time. There's a moment where he remembers, fleetingly, laughing at Ginny and Hermione because they'd made the same face at the same time, both with forks raised halfway to their mouths. He'd told a joke. Or said something stupid or something. It'd been a disapproving but amused face. He got those a lot.

Not even Hermione has given him one of those faces recently.

"Mum," says Ron, and then stops. He had meant to ask if she was okay. It's a dumb question, when he thinks about it. Everything he can think to say these days is a dumb question.

"I think I'm in love," he blurts, instead.

He hadn't meant to say _that_. In fact, he hadn't realised he thought he was in love.

But then, it's true, isn't it? It _had_ to be that he was in love, the way her smile, her laugh was the most important thing to see, the way he caught himself thinking _Hermione would like this_ at the tiniest things, the way she made his stomach turn and his heart beat faster and everything else he'd once scoffed at. _Those things are for kids' stories and romance novels_ , he'd thought. Maybe they aren't. Maybe _he's_ in a kids' story or a romance novel. Maybe he's been in love so long he never noticed.

"Oh, Ron," says his mum. She looks like she's going to start crying again, goddamn it. He's an idiot. This isn't the time to talk about things like that.

"Life goes on, doesn't it?" says his mum, and she sighs. "Have you told her?"

Of course not, what kind of idiot does she think he is?

"No," he says.

"Life goes on," she repeats, not really paying attention to him. "Life goes on."

"Yeah," says Ron. "Yeah."

* * *

**Chapter 6: Harry**

* * *

It takes place in the Ministry, of all places.

It had surprised nobody that Harry, in the gaps and shambles of the Auror Department, had been promoted after only a year and a half. After all, he _had_ saved the world. The Auror department had passed hands three times, three different Chiefs, and the latest one, Dobbs, had put Harry and Neville in charge of the recruits from after the war.

Ron had found it hilarious, had joked to Hermione over a beer that Harry had always been the real boss, and now it was formalized. Right now, Ron finds it much less hilarious. He stands outside Harry's office-small, but bigger than his own- and imagines walking away. Imagines sticking it out. He's left Harry before. He wonders if this is the same thing.

He's nervous. He imagines his sweat is about three seconds from turning him into a sodden, blibbering heap on the floor. That would be a right laugh. Maybe it'd make it _really_ clear that he wasn't cut out to be an Auror.

Hermione always said (teasing smile, that little dimple on the right side of her chin, something like a swallowed giggle in her voice) that he needed to learn how to just rip off a plaster. He's trying, at least.

He takes a deep breath, really more for appearances than anything. Straightens up, so he can at least be taller than Harry.

Then knocks on the door.

"Only took you twenty minutes," says Harry's voice from inside. Ron opens the door and ducks in.

"Hey, Harry," he says.

"What do you need? Paperwork signed off?"

Ron reminds himself that Harry is not just his boss, but his best friend. "No, I'm here for something a bit more," he says, but trails off.

 _Excellent_ work, Ron.

"I'm leaving the Aurors," he says. Might as well be blunt. Harry seems to freeze, puts down the parchment he was reading.

"The Death Eaters are all rounded up," says Ron, suddenly feeling the need to explain himself. "And we have enough men- and women," he adds, suddenly thinking about Hermione, "to deal with the, you know, black market and petty crime."

"I know," says Harry. There's a pause, while Ron assumes Harry tries to discern a reason. "What are you going to go? I know Hermione can support you both, but-"

"George offered me a job," says Ron. "And I figure, you know, the more people around George, the better-"

"Yeah, definitely," says Harry. He's damn hard to read at the worst of times- Ron can read people well, usually, but Harry has grown so used to closing himself off.

But Harry is thinking, clearly, his hand moving idly to touch his scar. He still does that. Ron can't decide if it's concerning or endearing.

Actually, most of Harry's habits fall under that category.

"I'm sorry about this," says Ron. "I really am. I don't mean to, y'know, leave you-"

He cuts himself off before he can say _again_ , but he swears that something in Harry's face heard it just as loudly as if Ron had said it. Ron knows, knows too well that Harry forgives him far more than he himself ever will, and he kind of hates it. Hates and loves it.

Something else that's concerning but endearing, Harry's trust.

"I understand," says Harry. He shifts his chair, swings to the right. The left. The right again. "You know," he adds, "I kind of knew."

"Knew?" says Ron. He sits down in Harry's guest chair. The one for meeting attorneys and witnesses and informants.

"It's not your thing," says Harry. His glasses are dusty; Ron wonders if he knows, or if he's just gotten used to it. "So, the joke shop, then?"

"Yeah," says Ron. "I figure- well, I've never been the hero type-"

"You think you haven't," amends Harry. Ron pretends not to hear it.

"But one thing I've _always_ been good at is getting a laugh, and we could all use one anyway."

Harry grins. "Might be a more dangerous line of work, working with George. Are you sure about this, Ron?"

"I've been sure about this for a few months," says Ron.

"Ron?" says Harry, opening a drawer and rifling through whatever papers are there.

"Yeah?" says Ron, suddenly, irrationally, worried.

Harry scribbles something on the bottom of a paper and hands it to him. A resignation slip. "Take care," he says. "And make kids smile, would you?"

Ron thinks about his brother, suddenly. George flitting around the store with the biggest, least forced smile he'd seen in a year, the day they'd reopened the store. George and Lee sitting together with the old Potterwatch equipment that night when the store closed and telling the listeners that life went on, the store was open, they're okay.

"I will," he says.

Harry stands up on the other side of the desk. "Thanks," he says.

Ron can't fathom why Harry would say _thanks_ for leaving the Aurors. Is he _that_ bad?

"Why?" he asks.

"For finding out what you want," says Harry. "I'm happy you did."

"Oh," says Ron.

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

He can't really say anything else, so he tells Harry he'll see him 'round and leaves, feeling inexplicably peaceful, like everything is going to work out.


End file.
